The Legend of Luke: A Tale from Redwall

Joined by Trimp the Hedgehog, Dinny Foremole, and Gonff—the ever- mischievous Prince of Mousethieves—Martin embarks on a perilous journey to the northland shore, where Luke, his father, abandoned him as a child. There, within the carcass of a great red ship, he finally uncovers what he has been searching for: the true story of the evil pirate stoat, Vilu Deskar, and the valiant warrior who pursued him relentlessly over the high seas, seeking to destroy Vilu at all costs, even if it meant deserting his only son. The legend of Luke and his son, Martin, is a glorious tale from Redwall’s history.

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In this twelfth book of the masterful Redwall epic, storyteller Brian Jacques goes back in time to the days before Redwall,
revealing with dramatic poignancy the legend of the first of the magnificent Redwall warriors—Luke, father of Martin.
Joined by Trimp the Hedgehog, Dinny Foremole, and Gonff—the ever-mischievous Prince of Mousethieves—it is that
legend Martin hopes to discover when he embarks on a perilous journey to the northland shore, where his father
abandoned him as a child. There, within the carcass of a great red ship—broken in half and wedged high up between
pillars of stone—he finally uncovers what he has been searching for: the true story of the evil pirate stoat, ViIu Daskar,
and the valiant warrior who pursued him relentlessly over the high seas, seeking to destroy Vilu at all costs, even if it
meant deserting his only son.
Brian Jacques reaches a new pinnacle in storytelling, imparting the story behind the story of the greatest Redwall warrior
of them all.
Book 1
Martin
Book 2
Luke
Book 3
A Warrior's Legacy
************************************
The young must grow old,
Whilst old ones grow older,
And cowards will shrink,
As the bold grow bolder.
Courage may blossom in quiet hearts,
For who can tell where bravery starts?
Truth is a song, oft lying unsung,
Some mother bird, protecting her young,
Those who lay down their lives for friends,
The echo rolls onward, it seldom ends.
Who never turned and ran, but stayed?
This is a warrior born, not made!
Living in peace, aye many a season,
Calm in life and sound in reason,
'Til evil arrives, a wicked horde,
Driving a warrior to pick up his sword,
The challenger rings then, straight and fair,
Justice is with us, beware. Beware!
************************************
Book 1
Martin
Chapter 1
Summer's first morn was like no other!
Trimp the roving hedgehog wandered through the woodlands like one in a dream, drinking in the beauty of Mossflower
Country, so different from the cold north-land coast whence she had traveled. Dew was still upon eac; h leaf, delicate mist
tendrils wreathed into greengold sun shafts 'twixt mighty oak, slender rowan and stately elm. Birds trilled sweetly,
butterflies fluttered silently, bees hummed busily over flowers, ferns and lichen-clad rocks. Trimp's heart felt as light as
the haversack on her back. She ignored hunger, feasting her senses on the glory of her surroundings and the delight of the
new season. Swinging her ash stave jauntily, she skipped a little jig and broke out into song.
"You lark on high,
O minstrel of the sky,
Sing out! Sing out!
Now sing you joyously,
To Mother Nature and her earth,
This is the golden summer's birth,
A wondrous sight to see!
Hail, fine tall trees,
Your leaves dance on the breeze,
Rejoice! Rejoice!
And sway so gracefully,
You'll feel your blossom soon give way,
To ripened fruit some sunny day,
()h please save some for me!
Sing out! Rejoice!
Let all who have a voice,
Call out so sweet and happily,
O'er woodland vale and grassy lea,
Good day my friend to thee!"
As Trimp ended her song, a voice hailed her.
"An' good day to thee, too, pretty one!"
She halted at the edge of a ditch. Two sturdy old hedgehogs stood on a path at the other edge, grinning cheerfully. They
were alike as peas in a pod. One of them called to her, "We'll 'elp you across yon ditch, missie. Stay there!"
Taking a few paces back, Trimp winked cheekily at the pair. "Nay, you stay there. I'll help myself!"
With a short run and a hop, she dug the long ash stave in the bank and pole-vaulted neatly across. Both hedgehogs
wriggled furiously until their backspikes rattled, an ancient hog form of applause. Trimp immediately took a liking to the
jolly pair. She stood directly in front of them and lowered her head formally, and they did likewise until all three
creatures' headspikes touched in the traditional greeting of their species. Introductions were made.
"Good sirs, I'm called Trimp the Rover."
"Marm, I'm called Ferdy an' that fat 'un's my brother Coggs, both of Redwall Abbey."
Coggs snorted, pointing to Ferdy's ample stomach. "I ain't as fat as ole Ferdy, am I, miz Trimp?"
She giggled. "You're as tubby as one another."
Ferdy and Coggs exchanged wry glances.
"She's pretty all right, pretty impudent!"
"Aye, truthful an' pitiless, jus' like all the pretty 'uns!"
"She's thin, though. D'ye think she could 'elp pull a log?"
"Miz Trimp ain't thin, she's slender—but strong, I'll wager, the way she leaped yon ditch. She can pull logs."
Trimp pursed her lips shrewdly. "Of course I can pull logs. I could tow a log with both of you sitting atop of it, if I'd a
mind to. But I'm feeling very slender today, owing to the fact that I've an empty haversack on my back. So, towing logs
means payment in food."
Ferdy and Coggs exchanged more wry glances.
"Miz Trimp knows wot she wants, don't she!"
"Ho, she certainly does, mate. That 'og ain't soft as moss nor green as the grass. We'll 'ave to feed 'er."
"Only when we gets back to Redwall, though. Then she can tuck into vittles 'til she's like two of us'n's put t'gether. So, is
it a bargain, marm?"
Trimp banged her stave butt down on the path decisively. "Done! Lead me to your log, friends."
It was not a very big log, more like a heavy sycamore limb. They attached ropes and pulled, and the wood slid easily along
the dewy grass of the pathside. Trimp was full of questions for Ferdy and Coggs.
"What is this Redwall place and how far off is it?"
"Hah, missie, you won't say that someday. Anybeast'll be able to see it from a good league off. Right, Coggs?"
"Right, Ferdy. When we gets round this bend in the path, beyond that big grove of oaks, then you'll see it, Trimp. "Tis
goin' to be a great Abbey, but it ain't properly built yet. Martin reckons three more seasons should see the main Abbey
buildin' showin' its spire top."
Trimp suddenly stopped pulling and smote her forehead with an open paw, as if she had just remembered something.
"Of course! I've heard other travelers mention the great redstone building in Mossflower. You say there's a Martin there. Is
he a mouse, son of Luke the Warrior?"
Ferdy shrugged and beckoned her to keep pulling. "Oli, he's a warrior sure enough, missie. As to his father, 1 think
somebeast mentioned his name was Luke—eh, Coggs?"
Coggs switched the rope to his other shoulder. "Could be, mate. Nobeast knows much about our Martin—he keeps his
past fairly quiet. Mark my words, though, Trimp, the noblest fighter that ever wielded a sword is Martin the Warrior—he
fears nothin' an' battles like tenbeasts. Hoho, lookee there, marm, that's Redwall Abbey. See!"
Trimp's eyes grew wide with wonder. Never had she seen anything built on such a grand scale, even though it was still
incomplete. The Abbey reared out of the forest on the path's east side, fashioned from mighty blocks of red sandstone.
There was a high perimeter wall with battlements and a broad walkway behind them, and visible above this outer wall
the main building stood two-thirds finished. Buttresses, arches and columns could be seen between the wooden
scaffolding. Mice, moles, squirrels, otters, hedgehogs and voles labored busily, hauling, laying, chipping, carving and
carrying, all over the structure. Ferdy and Coggs chuckled at Trimp's astonishment.
"Hohoho. Shows wot honest 'ardworkin' woodlanders can do when they puts their paws t'work, eh, miss?"
"Aye, buildin' Redwall Abbey, a place o' safety an' cheer for goodbeasts to live in, with walls that'd stand the worst any
vermin foes could think of!"
Trimp enjoyed the pride in her friends' faces as they spoke of their home. She cocked her head as a hollow booming
sound echoed out.
"What's that noise? Are they doing something special?"
Coggs winked at her and patted his stomach. "That's the call for lunch. We're just in time!"
The three hedgehogs pulled their log through the impressively solid wallgates, which were opened for them by a mole.
He tugged his snout, saying in quaint molespeech, "Hurr, gudd day to ee. Boi okey, mates, ee likkle 'ogmaid be purtier'n
both of you 'uns. 'Ow be you'm called, miz?"
Trimp shook the formidable digging claw of the twinkle-eyed mole heartily. "I'm Trimp, sir, ten times hungrier than I'm
pretty."
A deep smile crinkled the mole's velvety face. "Gurtly pleasured to meet ee, miz Trimp. Oi'm ee Foremole yurrabouts.
If'n ee be 'ungered then fear not, us'n's can vittle ee up to yore spoikeytips. Hurrhurrhurr!"
Leaving the log by the gatehouse wall, the three hedgehogs followed the Foremole across broad lawns to the pond,
where scores of Redwallers were washing their paws before lunch. Trimp joined them, while Ferdy pointed out various
individuals.
"That 'un swimmin' about is Skipper of Otters, a chieftain. Pretty mousewife by the reeds is Columbine, jolly-lookin'
beast with 'er is Gonff, Prince of Mouse-thieves, an' the liddle 'un is their son Baby Gonflet. Dinny Foremole you already
know."
The hollow booming sounded out again, and this time Trimp saw that it was made by a squirrel beating on a hollowed
section of tree trunk with two wooden batons. Ferdy nudged her. "That's Lady Amber, our Squirrel-queen. Come on,
young 'un, off to the Council afore you sit down to eat."
Trimp followed Ferdy and Coggs to the orchard, where tables and benches were laid in an open square. Ferdy bade her
stand back until all were seated. The traveling hogmaid could not wrench her eyes from the food—it was like being at the
center of a delicious dream. Cauldrons of fresh vegetable soup steamed savory aromas around new oven-baked bread
shaped into biscuits, batches and loaves. Cheeses, ranging from deep yellow to pale cream and studded with nuts, celery
and herbs, were placed between heaped trays of woodland salads. Small tarts showed the rich hues of damson, apple,
blackberry and greengage through their pastry-latticed tops. Jugs and pitchers of ale, fruit cordial and cold mint tea were
being brought to the tables by servers. Trimp held her kerchief politely to her mouth, lest anybeast see it watering. Ferdy
tugged her tunic hem and whispered, "Come on, missie, don't be afeared. Nobody will eat ye!" He led her round to the
table nearest to the Abbey.
A huge, ancient badger, bent with the weight of many seasons, gazed at her with kind brown eyes and nodded.
"Welcome to Redwall Abbey, little one. I am Bella of Brockhall. You look as if you have traveled far."
Trimp curtsied deeply. She liked Bella on first sight.
"Marm, I am Trimp the Rover, so traveling is my business. Since late winter, I have been walking from the northlands."
"Fourth clans? Did she say fourth clans?"
Next to Bella, the tiniest, oldest, frailest mouse Trimp had ever seen was sitting in a small cushioned chair, wrapped in a
thick warm shawl. The mouse sitting on the old one's other side leaned close to her and spoke loudly.
"Northlands, Abbess Germaine. Our guest has walked all the way here from the northlands!"
He turned, smiling, to Trimp. The hogmaid warmed immediately to the sturdy beast, his strong features and friendly
tone.
" 'Tis fitting to have one so pretty to grace our table as guest on summer's first day. I'm called Martin."
The mouse named Gonff, seated close by with his wife and babe, winked at Trimp and called out, "Aye, matey, an' he's
never called late to table!"
Martin smiled at his friend and closest ally. "Hah! Look who's talking. The greatest grubsnatcher ever to lift a ladle!"
Gonff pointed at himself innocently. "Who me? I hardly ever touch food, matey. A crust an' a beaker o' water's good
enough for me!"
His wife Columbine adopted an expression of mock surprise. "Lackaday, it must be the birds eating all those pies an'
pasties I'm forever baking. What d'you think, Gonflet?"
Baby Gonflet chuckled uproariously. "It's me'n'daddy, we pincha pies'n'pattees offa windersill when they be's gudd'n'ot,
us eatem all up, yumyum!"
Gonff covered his baby son's mouth amid general laughter. "It was his idea, Columbine. He's been leadin' me astray!"
Trimp took her seat amid the happy Redwallers. Old Abbess Germaine waited until Bella brought order to the assembly
by tapping a spoon on the tabletop. Heads bowed while the ancient mouse recited grace in a quavery voice.
"May good fortune never cease,
Where we build and till the soil,
Mother Nature grant us peace,
And reward us for our toil.
Summer's come, now life is sweet,
Food is here for one and all,
In good friendship let us eat,
As one family at Redwall."
Bella served Trimp with soup, Martin passed the bread and cheese, Columbine piled a platter with salad for her and the
charming squirrel called Lady Amber topped up her beaker with fruit cordial. Trimp went at it with the best. Dinny the
Foremole shielded his mouth with a paw, whispering to the Skipper of Otters.
"Hurr hurr, dearie me, oi never afore see'd nobeast tuck into ee vittles loik miz Trimp. Zurr Gonff be eatin' loik ee
buttyfly alongsoid o' that young 'un!"
Goriff the Mousethief wrinkled his nose at the mole. “I heard that, matey. Shove that cheese this way an' I’ll show ye
what a dainty eater I am. Hoi, Gonflet, get yore spoon out o' my soup, you liddle bandit!"
Columbine smiled sweetly at Trimp. "Like father, like son, I always say."
After lunch Trimp volunteered to help Martin and his friends hoist a roofbeam. Skipper and his crew were atop the halftimbered dormitory with mallets and pegs, awaiting the heavy oaken beam. The jovial otter jiggled the rope in its pulley
block and called down, "Ahoy, mates, if'n we wait 'round much longer up 'ere we'll sprout wings'n'feathers an' fly off!"
Gonff secured the rope to the beam, and spat on his paws. "Right, mateys, let's send 'er up with a will. Anybeast got a
good haulin' river song t'help out?"
Bella held up a paw in response. “I'll do 'Grumbledum Tugg' if you like!"
A groan arose from the hauling party. Baby Gonflet clapped both paws over his tiny ears.
"Not dat one agin, miz Bell, you alius singin' 'Grungledun Tuggs.' Ferdy say miz Trimpy be a good singer."
Bella sighed, bowing slightly to the hedgehog maid. "Trimp, nobeast is forcing you to sing, but it'd be nice if you'd
oblige. D'you know any good hauling shanty songs?"
Trimp did, and she immediately sang out in a fine clear voice.
"Away O! Away O!
Haul hard an' take her out,
I'll tell ye of the Greenhaxvk,
An' her cap'n, ole Chopsnout.
Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!
Ole Reynard Chopsnout was a fox,
A bad corsair to boot,
Who ran his vessel on some rocks,
While searchin' 'round for loot.
Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!
So to the northlands he did steer,
The Greenhawk to repair,
A warrior who knew no fear,
Named Luke was livin' there.
Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!
That corsair came with all his horde,
I'll tell ye mates 'tis true,
Brave Luke took up his battlesword,
An' that bad fox he slew.
Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!
Then Luke called up his gallant crew,
And Greenhawk did repair,
He changed her name to Sayna, too,
Which sounded good and fair.
Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!
So Luke the Warrior sailed away,
He left the northland shore,
He swore an oath that one fine day,
He'd come back home once more.
Away O! Away O! Now bend yore backs an' heave ho!"
The beam was halfway up when Trimp stopped singing. Martin had his footpaws dug in firmly, holding the swaying
oaken balk steady with the rest of his friends. He stared at the roving hedgehog, gritting from between clenched jaws:
"What've you stopped singing for, missie? Keep on!"
Trimp returned his stare, shaking her head. "But that's all I know. I never learned the rest!"
Gonff slid forward a fraction as the beam began losing height. Urgently, he muttered, "Then start from the beginnin' an'
sing it again, matey, afore we're all wearin' an oakbeam for a hat!"
Trimp sang the hauling shanty, as far as she knew the verses, twice before the beam was safe in the otters' strong paws
on the dormitory top.
When the others went off to new chores, Martin called Trimp to him. Walking on either side of her, he and Gonff
escorted her across to the gatehouse and showed her in. The Mousethief took flagon and beakers from a cupboard where
he had hidden them, and poured drinks for all three.
"Ninian's cider, I calls this. Comes from the ole place down south on the path, where I live from time to time."
They sipped the cold sweet cider appreciatively, in silence. It was cool and shady in the gatehouse after the bright noon
sun outside. Martin leaned forward. "Trimp, where did you hear that song?"
"My grandmum Welff Tiptip used to sing it. She told me that she once knew a little mouse named Martin, too. Was that
you?"
Gazing into his beaker, he slowly swirled the cider. "That was me. I am Martin of Redwall, son of Luke the Warrior. My
mother's name was Sayna. Strange, I had almost forgotten it, until you sang your shanty. Sayna was the name my father
gave to his ship as well. Being little more than a babe at the time, I don't remember much. But it comes back to me a little
now. Tell me, miss, what else did your grandmum say? Anything at all?"
Holding her beaker with both paws, Trimp sipped and pondered. "There were names . . . Coll, Denno, Cordle, and others
I can't recall. Is that any help to you, Martin?"
"I'm afraid not. But carry on, please."
"Hmm, now let me see. She used to talk of old Twoola, er, Drunn Tunneller and Windred—"
"Windred! She was my grandmother!" Martin grabbed the hedgehog maid's paws. "Think! Did I have brothers or sisters?
A grandsire? What was my father really like? Tell me about Sayna, my mother!"
Even though her paws were hurting in the vicelike grip, Trimp's heart went out to the Warrior. "I can only tell you what
I know, sir. Grandmum died when I was very young. She told me that I was born on the northland coast, but we fled
when the slavers attacked your tribe's settlement. Our family moved to the midnorth hills. When I became old enough, I
left to go roving, and the first place I set out to see was my birthplace on northland shore. Alas, there was nothing left
there of our old home, so I carried on roving until I met Ferdy and Coggs, and they brought me to Redwall."
Gonff placed a paw on his friend's shoulder. "Steady on there, mate. You'll crush miss Trimp's paw!"
Martin released her, and went to stand in the doorway, blinking to hold back welling tears. "I used to know things, I'm
sure of it. But after the injuries I suffered battling the wildcat Tsarmina, I've hardly been able to recall a single thing. D'you
remember Timballisto?"
Gonff nodded. "He was yore friend from the north-lands, who was released from slavery and came here. A good
mouse."
Martin struck his paw hard against the doorpost. "We must have been crazy, both of us. He lived here, yet for some
unknown reason we never discussed our past. Poor Timbal—he died the winter following the great Moss-flower war."
Gonff poured more cider for his friend. "Mayhap 'twas too painful for either of you to mention, what you went through
when you were young 'uns?"
Martin stood staring out across the sunlit lawns. "You're probably right, Gonff. Perhaps it was. Trimp, can't you
remember any more names at all?"
The hedgehog maid smiled pensively. "Only that Grandmum used to say if we didn't stop our noise and go to sleep,
Vilu Daskar would get us. Aye, Vilu Daskar. Does that name ring a bell, Martin?"
“No, not a thing. 'Tis all too hazy, too long ago now."
The Warrior walked off toward the Abbey. Gonff watched him, sad for his friend and the forgotten past. "I ain't seen
Martin like that afore, miss."
Trimp put aside her drink and stood up. "Only since I came to Redwall and sang that song. This Abbey's a beautiful
place, Gonff, but I wish I'd never come here and caused Martin such unhappiness. I'd best leave."
Gonff barred her path to the door, chuckling. "Sorry, me young beauty, but I can't allow it, and neither would Martin, or
anybeast calls themselves a Redwaller. Come on now, cheer up, earn yore afternoon tea. I'll show ye how I collect honey
from our bees—you can lend a paw."
They strolled from the gatehouse toward the northeast wall corner, where the hives were situated.
"But I've never tried taking honey from bees, Gonff. Don't they have a nasty habit of stinging you?"
"What? Sting me, the Prince of Mousethieves? Never! Not as long as I can pretend I'm a bumblebee an' sing while I steal
the honey from under their noses, missie."
Trimp giggled. "Oh really, Gonff? What do you sing to a bee?"
"Oh, this'n'that, y'know. I usually start like this.
"Ho fuzz buzz buzz, look who's a-buzzin',
Good day, sir bee, I'm Gonff yore cuzzin ..."
Trimp's laughter mingled with the Mousethief's song on the sunkissed noon air as they skipped paw in paw across the
lawns of Redwall Abbey.
Chapter 2
In the days following Trimp's arrival at Redwall Abbey it became obvious to everybeast that something was wrong with
their Warrior. Martin was no longer his customary jovial and helpful self. Often he was missing at mealtimes, and he spent
more and more time outside the Abbey. It was a worrisome situation: Martin, the very backbone of Redwall, silent and
pensive, with a faraway look clouding his eyes. Skipper and Dinny Foremole wandered up onto the east walltop, which
was an ideal place to view the beauty of Mossflower Wood in summer. Lady Amber and Coggs were also up on the
ramparts. Foremole greeted them with a wave.
"Gudd day to ee. You'm bain't seen Marthen, 'ave ee?"
Lady Amber placed a paw to her lips, cautioning silence. Pointing downward over a battlement, she said in a low voice,
"Martin's sittin' down there alone!"
Skipper crouched below the walltop, shaking his head. "So that's where our Warrior goes when he leaves the Abbey.
Still, y'can't blame him. 'Tis a good place for anybeast seekin' solitude from others."
Coggs peeped over at the lonely figure sitting below. "I tell ye, friends, 'tain't like Martin to act this way. He's just sittin’
there with his back agin the wall, starin' out at the trees. What'll we do?"
Ever the sensible otter, Skipper began descending the wallsteps, down to the lawn behind the orchard.
"Come away, mates. I'd hate t'think Martin would know we're up 'ere a-spyin' on him. While he's outside, we could 'old
a quick meetin' with the Abbess to sort the problem out."
All concerned gathered in the gatehouse. Ferdy and Coggs served them elderflower cordial and slices of plum cake. Old
Abbess Germaine held a trumpet, made from a spiral seashell with its end cut off, to her ear. Though her body was frail
and her hearing none too good, the ancient mouse's other senses were still sharp and her eyes twinkled and shone keenly.
She let them rove over the assembly, Bella, Columbine, Skipper, Dinny Foremole and Lady Amber, finally coming to rest
on Trimp and Gonff.
"Hmm. My intuition tells me that our guest Trimp and the Mousethief know more of this affair than we do, friends. So I
want you to speak up clearly, one at a time, please. Start at the beginning, always the best place to begin. Pray keep silent,
the rest of you—I'll hear from everybeast in due course. When the story is complete, I'll give you my decision as Mother
Abbess, based of course on your facts."
There were smiles and nods of agreement all around. Even as a young mouse, Abbess Germaine had possessed great
sense and wisdom. Now, with the experience of countless seasons upon her old head, every Redwaller trusted her
judgement without question. They were certain that their beloved Abbess could solve any problem.
It was late afternoon when Martin entered the Abbey by the main gate. He was immediately set on by a group of Dibbuns,
the infant creatures of Redwall. Baby Gonflet was clearly the ringleader, wrestling fiercely with Martin's footpaw, until the
Warrior allowed himself to be laid flat on his back. Martin was immensely fond of the abbey-babes, always managing to
make time for them and their odd little games. He gasped as they sat on his paws and held his ears. Baby Gonflet knelt on
Martin's chest, shaking a paw under the Warrior's nose.
"You be still, naughtymouse, or we choppa you whiskers off!"
Two baby moles hanging on to Martin's belt giggled uproariously at the idea, adding their own threats.
"Heeheehee, urr, an' us'n's bite ee paws offen!"
"Yurr, an' chuck ee inna pond, hurrhurrhurr!"
Martin looked with mock pleading at his captors. "Oh, lackaday, will no kind creature help me? I'm captured by wild
ruffians. Have mercy on me, you savage beasts!"
Baby Gonflet grinned triumphantly at his prisoner. "On'y if'n you comes wiv us!"
Keeping up a pretence of fear, Martin was led protesting to the Abbey by a veritable swarm of mouse, squirrel, mole and
hog babes.
Cavern Hole was a comfortable room inside the Abbey, slightly below ground level. Abbess Germaine sat propped by
cushions in her enormous ceremonial chair, surrounded by her Redwallers. Ferdy ran up the stairs and back down again,
his spikes quivering excitedly.
"He's comin'! The Dibbuns are bringin' Martin!"
Agile squirrels scampered about with tapers, lighting the colored lanterns which supplemented the customary tallow
candles, lending the chamber a festive atmosphere. In front of the Abbess's chair stood a long solid elmwood table,
unadorned and bare. Martin was marched up to it by the Dibbuns, and Gonflet raised a chubby paw in salute to Bella.
"Us catchered 'im an' brought 'im 'ere, miz Bell!"
The big badger nodded solemnly. "Thank you, my friends, good work. Sit down now, and we'll deal with him right
away!"
Martin held silent, only moving one eyelid to return a wink from his friend Gonff. He was, however, mystified.
Abbess Germaine opened the proceedings by pointing an accusing paw at the Warrior. "What does this creature stand
charged with?"
Answers came rattling back like hailstones.
"Always helping others!"
"Defending our creatures with his life!"
"Never considering himself!"
"Being good and kind to all about him!"
"Assisting Abbess Germaine to design the Abbey!"
"Bein' the best friend a mousethief ever had, matey!"
"Hurr, an' keepin' gurt troubles to 'isself!"
Bella restored order by banging once on the table. She appealed to the Abbess. "This could go on all season. Pass
sentence on him!"
Germaine's eyes twinkled as she tapped her cane on the chair. "Bring in the instruments of punishment!"
Two trolleys were borne downstairs from the kitchens. One had a big barrel of strawberry fizz and beakers on it, the
other a magnificent three-tiered cake, surmounted by a marchpane figure of the Warrior himself. The Abbess looked
sternly from the trolleys to Martin and announced in a no-nonsense voice, "I order that you either eat all of this cake and
drink the contents of that barrel. . . or share it with us before you embark upon your journey!"
Martin was plainly bewildered. "Er, I'll share it with you all, of course, but, er, what journey is this I'm supposed to be
embarking upon?"
Gonff stepped forward, carrying Martin's great sword. It was a plain warrior's weapon, nothing fancy. The hilt was the
one that had belonged to his father's old sword: blackbound, with a red pommel stone at its top. But its blade was like no
other, fashioned by a Badger Lord from a chunk of metal fallen from the stars. Martin took it from Gonff, his face
reflecting in the burnished steel as he said, "This has been used for a lot of things, but never for anything as delicate as a
cake."
Gonff indicated a spot on the butter-colored meadow-cream, between a candied chestnut and a honey-preserved rose
petal. "Cut the cackle an' slice the cake, matey!"
A loud cheer went up as the keen blade slid into the massive confection.
"Martin the Warrior! Redwaaaaaaaallllll!"
Columbine took over the slicing and Coggs served drinks, while Martin sat in a corner with some of his friends, eating
and sipping happily. He nudged the Mousethief.
"Gonff, you tubby rascal, I've a feeling you're at the back of all this. Come on, tell me, where's this journey going to take
me?"
The Prince of Mousethieves blew out his cheeks airily. "Huh! You, matey? What makes y'think yore goin' anyplace
without me? I'll be with you every step o' the way!"
"Hurr, zurr, an' oi, too. You'm bain't a-goin' an' leavin' Dinny Foremole ahind of ee!"
Martin wrinkled his brow in frustration and put aside his slice of cake, which Baby Gonflet promptly stole.
"Look, will you all stop talking in circles and tell me where I'm supposed to be going?"
Trimp could hold the secret no longer. She blurted out, "To the place you've been dreaming of, where your father, Luke
the Warrior, swore to return someday. The northland shore, where you were born!"
Martin looked this way and that, blinking. His paws took on a life of their own, fidgeting distractedly.
"But. . . but. . . what about the Abbey? I haven't made any arrangements, then there's provisions, directions, a thousand
things that would have to be done . . . "
Columbine came over. Wiping cream and cake from the great battle blade with her apron corner, she gave the sword to
Martin and sat down beside him.
"No excuses, sir Warrior, 'tis all arranged and taken ca re of since this afternoon. Provisions are packed for you all, and
you've got the entire summer ahead of you. Skipper and Bella will take charge of the building work. I'll look after the
Abbess. There's absolutely nothing for you to do or worry about. After all you've done for Redwall and its creatures, the
least we can do in return is to allow you a trip to the place of your birth, which 'tis clear you long to see."
Martin squeezed Columbine's paw gratefully. "Thank you—thank you all. What can I say?"
The irrepressible Gonff pounded him on the back. "That's easy, matey, you can either say no, an' sit around with a face
like thunder until the flippin' Abbey falls down on us, or you can say yes, when do we leave?"
For the first time in days Martin the Warrior laughed. He backpawed Gonff in the stomach, knocking the wind from
him. "Yes, when do we leave?"
Dinny did not notice Baby Gonflet purloining his slice of cake as he shook Martin's paw with a hefty digging claw.
"Boi dawn on ee morrow at furst loight, zurr matey!"
Chapter 3
Stars paled into the receding night, as the cloudless sky turned from aquamarine to soft pastel bands of a new day. Out in
the vast leagues of Mossflower, birds began singing among still foliage of trees which stood like ancient giants. The sun
rose in the east, an immense golden ball, ready to preside over the morning and noon.
Skipper and Bella opened the main gate wide, and all the inhabitants of Redwall crowded out onto the path,
surrounding the four travelers. Trimp was sorry to be leaving the beautiful Abbey and its friendly creatures. Words of
advice and farewells fell thick as leaves in autumn.
"Fates an' fortunes be with ye!"
"Bringa me back lotsa seashells, daddy Gonff!"
"Go careful now. Watch yore step, Trimp!"
"Aye, an' don't let that Gonff scoff all the supplies."
"Stay away from deep water, Dinny!"
"An' don't climb any tall trees, mate!"
"Keep that sword close t'paw, Martin. You never know!"
"Have you got a clean kerchief, Gonff? I've packed some extra for you. Oh, don't forget your flute!"
Martin kissed Abbess Germaine's wrinkled brow. "Goodbye, Mother Abbess. Watch out for us near autumn."
The ancient mouse sniffed as she straightened his swordbelt over one shoulder. "Come back safe to Redwall Abbey,
Martin the Warrior!"
Red wallers stopped out on the path, cheering and waving, until the four figures traveling north were lost in the
shimmering dust.
Gonff strode out cheerfully, calling back to Dinny, who was lagging behind at a slower gait, "Come on, Din, keep up, you
old wobblechops!"
Shambling along at his own pace, the good mole was not about to be rushed. "More 'aste less speed, zurr. We'm gotten
all ee summer afore us'n's. You'm on'y get all 'ot an' wearied boi rushen along loik ee fussy rabbert!"
Martin slowed the pace slightly, allowing Dinny to catch up.
"Always take a mole's advice, Gonff. Remember, Dinny didn't get to be Foremole by being hasty and foolish."
Their friend's homely face crinkled into a deep smile. "Oi thankee furr ee koind wurds, Marthen. Moi ole granfer used
t'say oi was wise, even when oi was but a h'infant!"
Gonff could not suppress a giggle. "Hah! Yore ole granfer'd say anything for two pieces of pie, as I remember!"
Dinny nodded sagely at this remark. "Aye, an' loik as not ee'd say more furr three pieces o' pie, if'n you'm 'adn't stolen
'em furst, zurr Mouseythief!"
Gonff pulled a sad face at Martin. "Our Dinny can be very cruel at times!"
Martin tweaked his friend's ear playfully. "Oh, I wouldn't say cruel as much as truthful!"
By midday the Abbey was well lost to sight. The four travelers crossed the ditch, leaving behind the path and entering
the cool green woodlands. Trimp scouted ahead a bit and found a beautiful site for their early noonday meal. Dabbling
their footpaws in a small streamlet, they sat beneath a willow, lunching on apples, cheese and honeyscones, which they
washed down with cold clear water. Trimp watched Martin unbuckle the great sword from his shoulderbelt and lay it
down within easy paw-reach. Admiringly, the hedgehog maid watched reflections of water patterns playing along the
blade.
"What a wondrous thing your sword is, Martin."
The Warrior picked it up and held it lightly, testing its flawless balance. "Wondrous indeed, Trimp, but you must always
remember what a sword is really made for. It has only one purpose, to slay. In the paws of the wrong beast it could
become an awful thing, if 'twere used for evil purposes. As the Warrior who is privileged to carry the sword, I am honor
bound to uphold two things: the safety of Redwall, and the memory of my father. The blade was made for me, but the hilt
was always his."
Trimp felt slightly sorry for Martin. "This is a long trip we're undertaking and we have only the words of an old ballad to
go on. Maybe your father never really said that he would return, or then again, he may have returned long seasons ago
and sailed off once more. What I'm tryin' to say, Martin, is this: don't be surprised or disappointed if there is no trace of
him on the northland shores when we finally get there."
The Warrior patted his companion's paw fondly. "I've thought of all that, missie, don't worry about me. I've decided to
treat the whole thing as a summer journey with three good friends along for the walk. Right at this moment I feel lighter
of heart and happier than I've been for quite some time. So hush now and don't fret over me."
Babbling streamwater, combined with distant bird-song and insects' lazy droning, soon had the four creatures taking a
short nap in the shade and serenity offered by surrounding trees. They had not been dozing long when Martin became
alert. Sitting bolt upright, he readied for his blade.
Trimp opened one eye enquiringly. "What is it, Martin, what's the m—"
The Warrior touched her lips lightly. "Quiet, miss, listen. Gonff, can you hear?"
The Mousethief had drawn his dagger and crawled forward. Crouching against the willow trunk, he strained to hear.
"Gourds knockin' together—sounds like little drums. Chantin', too. Bit far off t'make it out proper, mate." He sniffed the air
as if hoping for a breeze. "No smell, though, matey, mayhap just as well, too."
Martin crouched alongside him and said one word.
"Flitchaye?"
Gonff nodded, still keeping his ears alerted for more sounds. "That's what I was thinkin', but what are Flitchaye doin'
this far south?"
Martin shrugged. "Raiding party, maybe?"
Trimp looked from one to the other anxiously. "What's a Flitchaye? Do we need to fear them?"
Martin explained.
"Flitchaye are a tribe of runty weasels. We don't fear them, but they're within a day's journey of Redwall, so we'd best go
and see what they're up to."
As they tracked their way through silent woodlands toward the distant sound, Gonff whispered, "Flitchayes are a bad lot,
missie. They use powerful herb smoke to stun their captives. You wouldn't see a Flitchaye 'til he's right on top of ye, 'cos
they disguise themselves with weeds an' shrubs an' live underground mostly. Though if this lot are Flitchaye raiders,
they'll stay above ground, not bein' on their own territory. Keep your head down an' stay back with Dinny, behind
me'n'Martin."
Trimp's heart beat faster. She was very excited, but not afraid with Martin and Gonff leading the way. Skirting a fern
bed, they crept up behind a fallen sycamore, and as they stooped in its shelter, the sounds grew more distinct. Voices were
chanting in unison with the thokking noise of gourds being struck rhythmically together.
"We d'Flitchaye Flitchaye Flitchaye,
Worraworra gonnawinna lorralorra wars!"
Thockthockathockthock, thockathockathockthock!
Bushes rustled and a few twigs snapped. Peeping over the fungus-ridden trunk, Trimp blinked in surprise when she
distinguished the shapes moving against the leafy terrain.
Close to twoscore Flitchaye came marching past, brandishing stoneheaded axes and carrying bundles of slender
throwing spears. Smeared with plant dye and clad in a disguise of trailing weeds, the vermin were almost as one with
their surroundings. It was a barbaric scene, heightened by the sight of a very young squirrel, paws bound and hobbled,
being dragged along on a rope of vine thongs attached to his neck. Trimp's eyes began watering as four rearguard passed
close to the sycamore trunk, for they carried big earthenware pots on hangers between them, averting their heads from the
smoke which wreathed from the vessels. The hedgehog maid rubbed at her eyes, swaying as the smoke fogged her senses.
Dinny slapped a glob of mud in her paws, murmuring low, "Yurr, missie, stick this on ee nose an' breathe through ee
mouth!"
Trimp did as the mole advised and immediately felt better. She noticed that Martin and Gonff were doing the same thing
to counteract the effect of the drugged smoke. When the column of Flitchayes had passed, the four friends sat down in the
lee of the fallen trunk, and after a safe wait Gonff indicated that they clean off their noses.
Martin nodded grimly at Trimp. "Well, now you know what Flitchaye are like, the filthy villains. Did you see the little
squirrel they'd taken?"
Trimp shuddered. "Poor little fellow. What’ll they do to him?"
Martin clasped his swordhilt resolutely. "Nothing if we can help it, miss. Dinny, see if you can gather some ramsons."
The industrious mole was no sooner gone than he was back, carrying two of the broad-leafed plants, still with their tiny
starlike flowers in bloom. Trimp took a step back from the pungent garlic-smelling things.
"Whew! Keep away from me with that lot, Din. I can't abide the smell of ramsons!"
Dinny chuckled as he stripped the leaves and rolled them into small solid plugs. "You'm bain't goin' to loik thiz, marm,
but et could save ee loif. Yurr, take these."
Trimp's face was a mask of disgust as she accepted a pawful of the reeking wild garlic pellets from Dinny.
"Gurgh! We'll defeat the Flitchaye easily by throwing these at them. What a dreadful stink!"
Dinny passed the pellets around. Gonff chuckled gleefully.
"We don't chuck them at the foebeast, missie, we stuff two up our noses an' chew the rest."
The hedgehog maid looked horrified at the idea. "Stuff them up our noses and chew them? You're joking!"
Martin was already plugging his nose with ramsons. "No joke, Trimp. The garlic odor will overpower the smell of any
drugged herb that the Flitchaye have. Come on, miss, get on with it, we're losing time!"
With Martin in the lead, they set off trailing the Flitchayes. Both Dinny and Gonff were unaffected by the malodorous
aroma of ramsons—in fact, they seemed to be enjoying it. Martin endured his in stoic silence, but Trimp felt close to
vomiting at the overpowering smell. Traveling silent and fast, they soon heard the foebeast up ahead. Dropping flat amid
some bushes, Martin, Dinny and Trimp waited while Gonff scouted ahead. Trimp sat miserably in the deep loam, her
entire being swamped by ramsons. Gonff rejoined them, quiet as a shadow drifting over grass. The Mousethief made his
report swiftly.
"They're camped in a clearin' up ahead—some must've been already there. I counted fifty-one all told, all Flitchaye
savages. Saw the liddle squirrel, too, they got him bound to a post in the middle o' their camp. Fifty's too many for us,
mateys. 'Tis goin' t'be hard gettin' the young 'un out o' there. Any ideas, pals?"
Martin looked from one to the other before speaking. "Right, here's the plan. Listen carefully, because it all depends on
pure bluff. If it works, then we get out of there fast. Gonff, here's what you'll do, mate . . . "
Chapter 4
A mess of bird bones and feathers mixed with squashed half-eaten fruit and vegetables littered the Flitchaye camp.
Around the fire undersized weasels squabbled and fought tooth and claw over any morsel of food roasting in the flames.
One, larger than the rest, his face daubed blue beneath a helmet of ivy and bugloss, grabbed a half-burnt wren carcass
from a smaller Flitchaye. Snarling, the owner tried to retrieve his food from the big weasel, who booted him backward
into the fire contemptuously. It was an act of wanton cruelty that caused great hilarity among the other vermin, who
sniggered evilly as their scorched companion scrambled shrieking from the blaze and rolled about, trying to extinguish his
smoldering fur.
The young squirrel, who was little more than a Dibbun, was trying to shake off the effects of the drugged smoke. He
shrank back fearfully against the post he was bound to. Flitchayes with sharp sticks prodded him and licked their lips
meaningfully. One weasel took out a blade and was about to start cutting the squirrel's bonds when the big Flitchaye
spotted him and knocked him senseless with a well-aimed rock. He stood over the fallen weasel, baring his stained fangs
at the rest and speaking in his high-pitched growl. "Norra yet! Feed de swiggle, fatty 'im uppa plenny!" He thrust the
remains of the dead bird at the helpless youngster, snarling into the squirrel's terrified face: "You eat. Commona, eaty
allup!"
Martin strode nonchalantly into the camp, as if he was quite used to this sort of thing. A puzzled silence settled over the
Flitchaye at the sight of the bold, unarmed stranger in their midst. Pushing them out of his way he went across to the two
earthenware pots, still wreathing smoke from the drugged herbs which smoldered inside them. Leaning over, Martin
appeared to sniff them both and gave a hard, scornful laugh.
"Hah! Don't think much o' yore cookin', ragbags!"
A gasp of surprise rose from the vermin. The stranger had suffered no ill effects from the fearful fumes! Still shouldering
weasels aside, Martin pushed his way forcefully over to the little prisoner. Picking up the knife from the fallen weasel, he
made as if to cut the squirrel free.
"Stoppima mousebeast!"
At the shout from their leader, the Flitchaye surrounded Martin, hemming in on all sides. Swaggering forward, the big
weasel thrust his ugly face close to that of Martin and sneered, "We d'Flitchaye, Flitchaye, Flitchaye!"
The crowd took up the chant, moving around the Warrior in a shuffling, stamping dance. Martin waited patiently
awhile, an expression of bored indifference on his face. Then he pointed a paw at his own chest and shouted, "I Martin the
Warrior!"
Quiet fell over the vermin, and they stood still. The leader pointed a stoneheaded ax at the lone mouse, repeating
Martin's words as best he could. "Ma'tarn de Horrya!" He spat challengingly at the floor in front of the Warrior. Martin
coolly returned the gesture, looking the weasel up and down insultingly as he spoke.
"Fish eye, you d'Fish eye?"
The Warrior had anticipated the Flitchaye leader's next move, and he took a pace smartly backward as the weasel swung
his ax. The blow was delivered with such force that the Flitchaye could not stop it. He struck himself hard on the shin,
cracking his bone audibly. Martin stretched both paws wide. Keeping his eyes on a double-topped oak at the camp's edge,
he roared, "Redwaaaaaalllll!"
Hidden by the foliage, Gonff held the sword like a spear and cast it accurately. To the Flitchaye it was magic! Seemingly
zipping down out of the sky, the great blade thudded point first into the ground at Martin's side.
Wrenching it from the earth, the Warrior swung it skillfully, chopping a nearby vermin's bunch of throwing spears in
half with a single swipe. It had the desired effect. Flitchaye scattered to get out of Martin's sword range, leaving him alone
by the prisoner. Turning his back on the enemy, Martin gave the little squirrel a quick reassuring smile and whispered,
"Don't move 'til I say, matey. Soon have y'out of here." The captive blinked with fright as Martin's sword hissed within a
whisker of him, severing the ropes.
Whirring bright in the late afternoon sunlight, the sword weaved a deadly pattern as its owner wielded it. Martin
narrowed his eyes to a fierce intensity, glaring slowly this way and that at the vermin.
"I Martin the Warrior, we go now!"
Gently lifting the dazed little squirrel on his shoulders, he turned and began walking from the camp. The leader, his face
a mask of agony, limped forward, shouting, "Stoppa mousebeast, sto—"
His cry was cut short when a slingstone smashed his jaw and laid him flat. A female, obviously the leader's mate, dashed
forward, but she, too, was felled by a slingstone which whacked her between the eyes. She fell like a log.
Martin muttered out the side of his mouth to the little one, "Good old Dinny, never known him to miss yet!" Then he
turned sternly to the cowering Flitchaye. "I go, you stay, Fish eye, hah!"
At a nod from him, slingstones poured in from Gonff, Dinny and Trimp, causing confusion among the stunned
Flitchaye.
Back among the shelter of some big trees, Martin passed his sword to Gonff.
"Good work, mates, but if I know Flitchaye, they won't stay still for long. We've got to get out of here, fast!"
Trimp just had time to spit and blow, ridding herself of the hated ramsons, then she was running, paw in paw with
Dinny, Martin leading and Gonff behind her, guarding the rear. Trees and bushes sped by in a green blur as the rescuers
hurtled through the woodlands, with the first streaks of evening marking the sky. Breathless and quivering, they paused
at a wide shallow stream. Trimp stooped and sucked up mouthfuls gratefully. Gonff struck her on the back, causing her to
cough out the water.
"Don't drink now, matey, 'twill slow you up. Martin, listen!"
"Flitchayeeeeeeeee! Flitchayeeeeeeeee!"
The blood-curdling shouts of vermin crying for revenge rang out through the trees. Tapping the back of Martin's head,
the little squirrel, who now seemed completely recovered from the evil smoke, spoke for the first time.
"Chugger not wanna get eated, quick, run!"
And run they did. Martin chose the streambed, to make tracking difficult, though it slowed their pace slightly. Pebbles
clacked underpaw, water splashed noisily around the runners, and sometimes trailing crowfoot weeds tried to tangle
them up. Gonff turned at the sound of rapidly advancing vermin, as the Flitchaye dashed screaming into the waters
upstream.
"Flitchayeeeeee! Flitchayeeeeee!"
The Mousethief held a stone ready in his sling. "They've seen us, mates. I'll say this for the rascals: they're good fast
runners. Should we make for the bank and head into the woods, Martin?"
Martin pressed on doggedly with Chugger clinging to his back. "No good, mate, they'd track wet pawprints easily. This
water's getting deeper and they can only travel the same speed as us in a stream. Keep going!"
Farther downstream the watercourse took a bend, getting deeper. It was now well above waist height and flowing fast.
Dinny grunted to Trimp, "Oi doan't loik water, oi'm gurtly afeared of ee wet!"
The Flitchaye, who were still in the shallower water, seemed to be gaining apace on their quarry. Gonff turned and
brought one of the front runners down with a well-placed slingstone and reloaded his sling immediately.
"They're too close for comfort now, mates. I reckon we'll have t'stand an' fight it out!"
"Gurr, no uz won't. Lookit, we'm be saved!"
In the curve of the streambend a big old crack willow, which had collapsed into the water from the crumbling bank, lay
half in, half out of the flow, swaying gently.
Tripping and stumbling wildly, Dinny and Trimp waded through the eddying swirls, coughing and gasping, the
foodpacks they were carrying hampering them greatly. However, they made it over to the tree and hauled themselves on
to its bushy top. Their added weight did the trick. There was a tearing of the last few roots as the willow upended and slid
off into the stream.
Martin and Gonff were both slinging stones now, dodging the long thin throwing spears which the Flitchaye flung at
them. The little squirrel Chugger clung to Martin's back, yelling hoarsely, "Fro' lotsa stones, don't lerra Fish eyes eat
Chugga!"
The Warrior looked to Gonff for his sword. It was evident that before long they would be battling paw to paw with the
vermin in a life or death struggle.
"Hurr, 'urry an' jump on ee boat naow, mates!"
Dinny and Trimp had paddled the tree close up behind them, using long leafy branches they had broken from the
willow. Martin pushed Gonff onto the makeshift vessel and was about to pull himself aboard when a snarling Flitchaye
grabbed his paw. For a moment the Warrior was helpless, clinging with one paw to the tree while being held by the
vermin. Chugger scrambled up onto Martin's shoulder. Leaning over, he bit deep into the vermin's paw. An agonized
scream ripped from the weasel's mouth as he let go of Martin's paw. Without a backward glance, Martin heaved both
himself and Chugger onto the willow trunk.
"Trimp, look after the little 'un. Gonff, you and I'll paddle. Dinny, get your sling and give those scum what for!"
Trimp felt the current pull strongly at the tree, then they were whipped away downstream, with Martin and Gonff
paddling nonstop. Wedging little Chugger in the sprouting branches up front, she went to assist Dinny. The mole was
roaring gruffly as he whirled his sling and flung rocks with deadly accuracy.
"Goo burr, oi'll give ee billoh, you'm choild-eatin' villyuns. Yurr be a gurt supper o' stones for ee!"
So fierce were the volleys of rock and round pebble with which Dinny and Trimp peppered the Flitchaye that the vermin
waded for the banks, unable to keep balance and throw their spears in the deepening water. Martin chanced a backward
glance at their molefriend, and winked at Gonff.
"Look at old Din there, slinging away like a good 'un!"
Watching admiringly, the Mousethief saw one of Dinny's rocks take a Flitchaye squarely between both ears, toppling
him from the bank into the water.
"Aye, matey, that mole's enjoyin' himself all right!"
************************************
Dusk fell while the travelers made their way downstream, still harassed by Flitchaye foes running along both sides of
the bank. Martin peered ahead into the darkness and bit his lip grimly at what he saw.
"Bad luck for us ahead. The stream is dammed right across!"
Trimp gave a cry of dismay. "Look, some Flitchaye must've run ahead. I can see the shapes of 'em, waiting on the dam
top for us!"
Sure enough, there were several creatures moving about on the dam, shrouded by the enclosing gloom. Dinny groaned.
"Hurr, us'n's be en real trouble naow!"
A hearty voice, quite unlike the Flitchaye, rang out from the dam as shadowy shapes dashed back and forth.
"Whupperyhoooo, cullies, I see Flitchayes. Whuppery-hooooo!"
Gonff began jumping up and down with joy. Cupping both paws around his mouth, he yelled to the creatures on the
dam.
"Garraway Bullow, ye ole dogswamper, 'tis me, the Mousethief!"
A figure hurled itself from the damtop, cut the water neatly and came swimming at them with the speed of an attacking
pike. Chugger nearly fell from his perch with surprise as a large, powerful otter bounded onto the willow as if she had
been propelled from the water on a giant spring. Gonff threw himself upon the otter and wrestled her the length of the
trunk, both of them laughing and shouting.
"Well frazzle a frog, you ole Majesty, good to see yer!"
"Haharr, Gonffo me ole tatercake, you got a belly on ye like a poisoned plant louse! What brings ye to my neck o' the
country, cullie?"
"Yah, we didn't wanna come, 'cept that there's more'n twoscore Flitchaye tryin' to slay an' eat us, mate!"
Garraway Bullow tossed Gonff aside like a leaf and stood up. She looked Martin up and down, shaking his paw firmly.
"'Strewth, I wager you'd account for a few vermin before they brought ye down, with a sword like that. No matter,
cullie, you leave the filthy Flitchaye to my fighters!" Placing a paw to her mouth, she gave a loud ear-piercing whistle,
then called to the otters on the dam.
"Whupperyhoooo! Tis Flitchayes all right. Go an' get 'em afore they run off. Nought like a Flitchaye hide t'make cloaks
for our liddle 'uns, an' winter's on'y two seasons off!"
Otters materialized from everywhere, big warlike beasts, tattooed from ear to tail and armed with double-tipped
javelins. Whooping and bellowing, they took off after the weasels, who turned and fled in terror. The tree nosed gently
into the dam as Gonff was making introductions.
"That there's Dinny Foremole, the pretty hogmaid's called Trimp, an' the serious-lookin' sword carrier, who ain't nearly
so pretty as me, is Martin the Warrior, my matey. Friends, I want ye to meet Garraway Bullow, Queen of all the Nort—the
Northern Otter River Tribes!"
Garraway helped them on to the dam, then she hauled the willow in sideways and lashed it to the timber and mud
structure, remarking, "No sense in wastin' good wood—'twill strengthen our dam. Come on, Gonffo, an' bring yore
mateys, too. Seein' as you ain't been ate by Flitchayes, you must be 'ungry, right?"
Gonff laughed impudently at the Otterqueen. "D'ye ever recall a day when I wasn't hungry? I could eat a boiled otter
right now, but I ain't got the time to cook ye, burly Bullow, so lead us t'the vittles!"
"Hoi, worra you fink, I'm a likkle flower growin' on dis tree? Worrabout Chugger?"
Trimp rescued the tiny squirrel from the branches, where he had been taking a short nap. He waved at Garraway
Bullow.
" 'Lo, my name be Chugger, I 'ungry too!"
The Otterqueen swung him up onto her brawny shoulder. "Haharrharr, you ain't back'ard in comin' forward, are ye,
master Chugg? Well, I reckon you don't eat much, so we'll find a smidgen o' vittles for ye. Though I don't know rightly
where yore from, or if'n our vittles'd suit ye, matey. How'd you get caught by the Flitchaye?"
The little fellow shrugged. "I live inna woods wiv Granny. One day she go 'sleep. Chugger shake'n'shake Granny, but
she not wake up. So I on me own, 'til Fish eyes catcher me. But Martin, Trimp'n'Gonffo be's Chugger's friends now. You be
my friend, too?"
Garraway Bullow wiped something from her eye with the back of a paw. "I'd like t'meet the beast who says I ain't yore
friend, Chugger mate!"
Chapter 5
The otter den, or holt, consisted of a spacious cavern, dug into the bank, directly under where a massive ancient beech tree
grew. Thick gnarled beech roots, crisscrossing in all directions, formed a ceiling, wallbeams, and in places long stout seats.
It was lit by a great fire in a stonebuilt hearth and mantel, with ovens on both sides and cauldrons suspended over the
flames by iron trivets. Otters were everywhere, though mainly babes and oldbeasts, since the mature males and females
were out chasing Flitchayes. One wrinkled old male twitched his nose at Garraway, putting aside a wooden spoon he was
carving.
"Why didn't ye tell me there was Flitchayes abroad? I'd 'ave gotten me javelins an' gone out with the crew. Young
snipfur, y'are, never tell me nothin'!"
The Otterqueen inspected his work approvingly. "That's a fine spoon, Daddo. You put paid to more vermin than
anybeast in yore young seasons. Better f'you to take things easy an' whittle nice spoons. We need more spoons."
The oldster sighed and resumed his carving. "Yore tellin' me, daughter. 'Tis those Kitts. They think spoons is boats, go
out a-sailin' 'em an' lose 'em, they do." The little otters, known as Kitts, were anxiously watching an old otterwife putting
out spoons on the table for supper. She waggled a paw at them.
"I'll be countin' these spoons after, an' woe betide you Kitts if'n there's a single one gone astray!"
Gonff sniffed at one of the cauldrons appreciatively. "Mmm, Bubblin' Bobbs if I ain't mistaken!"
Trimp allowed the delicious aroma to wreath her face. "Smells marvelous, Gonff. What are Bubblin' Bobbs?"
The Mousethief managed to hook a sip on his knife edge before dodging a swipe from the big fat cook. "Well, first you
put on a soup of chopped leeks, parsley an' shredded white turnips, with loads o' secret otter herbs. Then you get a paste
made from cornflour, rolled oats an' carrot juice, roll it into dumplin's an' press a good fat watershrimp into the middle of
each one. Fry 'em crispy in corn oil, then chuck 'em in the soup. At first they sink, but when the soup starts a-bubblin', the
dumplin's bob to the top. That's why otters call it Bubblin' Bobbs. Come on, let's find a seat, Trimp. Supper looks about
ready!"
Before the meal started, Daddo laid aside his carving and plucked a few chords with his tail on a flat round instrument,
which made a banjo-like sound. He called to Garraway.
"C'mon, daughter, give us yore song afore the rest gits back."
Queen Garraway fluttered her eyelashes demurely and launched into a ballad with a voice that shook the very rafters.
"I'm bound to sing this song,
Though I shouldn't really ought,
I'm Queen of all these otters yet,
They call me Queen of Nort?
Yes Queen of Nort!
My goodness who'd have thought,
One day I'd be a Majesty,
Or something of that sort,
But all the otters that I see,
Must bow and wave their tails to me,
Whilst I just nod back graciously,
I'm Queen of Nort!
Good Queen of Nort,
My northern otter tribe,
Live all along the riverbanks,
And beat their foes with tails like planks,
I rule them wisely and give thanks,
I'm Queen of Nort!
There's nought I'd rather be,
I say to myself constantly,
Your Majesty is really me,
And don't I look like royalty,
I'm Quee-ee-ee-ee-heeeeen of Nort!
N . . . O . . . R . . . T, may I rule long and graciously!"
Queen Garraway Bullow bowed modestly as the listeners applauded, clipping the ear of a Kitt who was stuffing a spoon
in his apron pocket and rapping the paw of another who was making rude gestures at her elders. Suddenly the presupper calm was disrupted, as bounding and hooting the fighting otters returned, hungry as hunters and flushed with
victory. Trimp found herself sandwiched between two husky females, who jostled and joked.
"Ahoy there, mate, budge over a bit, will ye!"
"Yah, go an' budge yoreself, barrelbeam!"
Eventually, after much shoving and hustling, every-beast was seated, and a big rough-looking one-eared male bellowed,
"Whupperyhoo! Wheel in the vittles hard'n'fast there!"
Queen Garraway threw him a frosty glance. "Not afore you've made yore report, Cap'n Barrool!"
Barrool flicked his powerful tail and winked at her. "Oh, that! Well, there ain't no more babe-eatin' wicked Flitchayes
plunderin' the land no more, we slew 'em all!"
Daddo eyed him doubtfully. "How d'y'know they're all slain?"
One of the big females called out, " 'Cos we asked 'em real nice, an' any who said they wasn't got fixed up good'n'quick!"
This brought roars of laughter from the fighters. Trimp shook her head sadly, remarking to the female next to her, "How
can you joke about killing other creatures?"
The otter's face became severe as she replied, "If you'd seen wot Flitchayes have done to old 'uns an' Kitts when they
raided here in bygone seasons, you'd unnerstand, missie. Besides, the crew's only jestin' 'cos they all came back alive an'
un'urt. This time we were lucky. Those scum didn't 'ave time to sneak up on us with their smoulderin' herbs an' knock us
out, so they 'ad t'fight paw to paw, see."
The Bubbling Bobbs soup was delicious, as was the riverbank salad, arrowroot scones with honey, hotroot celery cream
dip and dandelion cordial. Martin sat next to the Queen, explaining where the four were traveling to. Garraway was very
helpful.
"Northern shores, eh? You'd be best to go by water, Martin."
"Hmm, maybe so, but you've dammed the stream and we've lost our willow—it's reinforcing your dam, remember?"
Garraway brushed aside his objections cheerfully. "We only dammed the stream to make a liddle waterfall an' a good
slide for the Kitts. Another stream cuts in below the falls. We'll lend you a raft. It'll be easy, matey. The river runs straight
west t'the sea shores, an' from there you only have t'head north along the coastline, right, Gonff?"
The Mousethief slurped the soup from his bowl. "Right, marm, an' thankee kindly for yore 'elp'n'hospitality!"
Garraway whacked him playfully with her tail. "Lissen, Gonff, you don't get off with it that easy. Come on, out with that
flute of yours an' give us a jig. Er, 'Tails in the Stream'? Aye, that's wot it was called!"
Gonff pulled out his flute and returned the whack, grinning. "Yore a wicked ole Queen, forcin' pore travelers t'sing for
their supper. Right, here goes. 'Tails in the Stream'!"
At the first merry trills of the flute every otter in the holt was up and jigging wildly. Martin, Trimp and Dinny had to
climb to a high root perch to avoid the flailing tails and whirling limbs. They sat clapping their paws in time to the furious
pace. Chugger was down on the floor with a gang of Kitts, linking tails as they whooped and kicked up footpaws,
speeding around in a milling circle. Even the oldsters danced vigorously. Every now and then the floor would reverberate
as otters thumped their tails on it in unison as they sang.
"Tails in the stream, mates, tails in the stream,
No time t'sit around the bank an' dream,
Is it a pike perch roach or a bream?
No, 'tis an otter with his tail in the stream!
Whupperyhoo, mates whupperyhoo,
Clouds are white an' the sky is blue,
Rap with y'tail an' stamp that paw,
Bow to y'partner an' around once more!
Bread'n'honey'n'cakes'n'cream,
Supper's in the oven an' tails in the stream!"
Gonff tootled faster and faster, and the dance speeded up until the entire place was a blur of whirling fur and thumping
tails, finishing finally in a glorious collapse of giggling, bellowing otters. Gonff danced nimbly around them, waving his
flute and chuckling.
"Hahaha, c'mon now, you idle lot, up on y'paws. I'm goin' to play 'Riverdogs Ramble Round'!"
Panting and blowing, Queen Garraway extricated herself from the jumble, waving her paws. "Mercy, Gonffo, ye
picklenosed rogue, you'll have us danced out of our skins!"
Gonff helped her to a seat. "Right then, ole Majesty, sit an' rest those ancient paws. Everybeast sit now, but leave a space
in the center. Hi there, Martin, get down here an' show 'em the Battleblade Dance. C'mon, matey, don't be shy!"
Reluctantly Martin clambered down and unsheathed his sword. "Gonff, I'm sure nobeast wants to see that old thing!"
The Mousethief appealed to the otters. "'Course you do, mates, don't you?"
Martin sighed. By the furious applause that followed his friend's remark, it was obvious they wanted to see him perform.
Trimp sat Chugger on her lap, settling down to watch Redwall's champion, while Gonff and Dinny set the stage. A big red
apple was placed on an oaken stump stool, and Dinny sat on the floor, an upturned cooking pot in front of him. When he
began tapping it with his digging claws, it gave out a sound like raindrops hitting a thin slate roof. Tock tokkatokka tock
tokka tokka!
The Mousethief sat beside his molefriend. Taking two mushrooms, he stood one on Dinny's head and the other on his
own, then he held his paws straight in front of him, a dandelion held firmly in either one. Gonff signaled Martin with a
wink. What Trimp witnessed then she could scarce believe, but it convinced the hogmaid that nobeast living could wield a
sword like Martin the Warrior.
Martin began moving slowly at first to Dinny's beat, whirling his blade in all directions. Underpaw and over-paw,
around both shoulders and overhead, the sword moved in a slow flashing pattern, humming and whirring, with fireglow
playing along its blade. Everybeast stared in silent fascination at the wonderful display. Martin skiphopped, his keen
blade tip missing both footpaws by a fraction, then he gave a piercing yell.
"Redwaaaaaaall!"
Dinny speeded up his rhythm, with Martin keeping perfect time, eyes half closed in concentration. Redwall's great
sword became a blur of liquid light, traveling so fast that it left patterns upon the air, figures of eight, circles, crescents,
even shapes like flowers.
Tocktokkatokkatocktokkatokkatocktokkatokka . . .
Faster and faster the mole's digging claws rapped on the upturned copper pot. Otters held their breath as the perilous
blade sang within a whisker of their faces. Trimp nearly bit through her lip at what happened next. Martin gave a wild
animal roar and whirled upon his two friends, the blade striking down on their heads. Once! Twice! Both mushrooms fell
apart sliced from cap to base. Like a living thing, the sword hummed and flicked round Gonff's paws, lopping off the
dandelion heads so that they curled lazily up in twin arcs, landing neatly 'twixt the cut mushrooms on Gonff and Dinny's
heads. With a leap and a bound, Martin was at the big red apple, his lethal blade appearing to be six swords at once,
chopping like lightning at the apple. Never once was the blade edge heard to strike the oaken stump, on which twelve
perfect apple slices lay. Sweeping the flat blade to and fro, the Warrior sent the slices spinning into the watchers' laps.
Tossing the sword in the air so that it turned on its own length, Martin took a half pace backward. With an audible thud
the sword came down point first to stand quivering in the floor. Martin clasped both paws on the pommel-stoned hilt and
bowed.
The Nort otters went wild. They cheered and danced around Martin and his two friends, lifting them shoulder high and
carrying them round the cave. Chugger was already up with his pals, the Kitts, stuffing apple slices in their mouths as
they cast about for dandelions, mushrooms and swordlike sticks to repeat the Warrior's feat. Queen Garraway Bullow
gripped Martin's paw tight, pumping it up and down fiercely.
"Never seen aught like that on land or water, matey. Hoho! Thought you was goin' to make two moles out o' Dinny an'
leave ole Gonffo pawless for a moment back there. You'll have t'show me how t'do it, Martin. Great thunder, matey, wot I
wouldn't give for a sword like that'n o' yours!"
When the Warrior could get a word in edgewise, he shook his head ruefully at the crowd of admiring otters.
"Please, 'twas only a fancy exercise in sword control I thought up to relieve the boredom of training. Normally I
wouldn't let anybeast see me do it, but I made the mistake of performing it once at a Redwall feast and Gonff's been trying
to talk me into doing it again ever since."
Gonff patted his friend's back, obviously proud of his skill. "Fiddley dee, mate, shows yore a real Warrior. Huh, if'n I
could do that I'd be at it ten times a day for sure!"
Late that night Martin sat alone on the dam. Inside the holt of Queen Garraway it was snug and warm, and he could
hear the snores and murmurs of sleep talkers drifting forth into the soft summer darkness. Martin smiled, recalling how
Gonff had grabbed the sword and told a disobedient gang of Kitts about a tail-chopping trick he knew, for naughty little
otters who would not go to sleep. It worked like a treat—they fled to their beds instantly. The Warrior stared into the
night, wondering what sort of a father Luke had been. He wrestled with fogged memories, confusing the images of his
mother Sayna and his grandmother, Windred, as they merged together in his mind's eye. He tossed a stone into the water,
watching the moon-rimmed ripples. What sort of place had the far north shores been? Had Luke, his father, ever kept his
word and returned there? It was all too puzzling, so he turned his mind to thoughts of the Abbey. What would Redwall
look like, one day when it was finally completed? That turned out to be a puzzle, too.
Next morning Queen Garraway took the travelers beyond her dam. There had once been a broad waterfall farther down
the stream, but the damming had cut it down to half its original size, allowing the otters to build a steep mudslide.
Squeaking Kitts, covered from ears to tails in wet brown clay, shot down it like stones from a sling, splashing into the pool
below and emerging clean of mud. The friends laughed uproariously at their antics. Trimp pointed out one, zooming
down backward.
"Heeheehee, look at that liddle scamp. Bet he'd catch it off his mother if she saw him doing that!"
With a resounding splash the little one hit the water, vanished and came up again, washed recognizable. Trimp hid a
smile as Dinny roared gruffly at the culprit: "Yurr, git out'n thurr, maister Chugg. You'm bain't no h'otter—you'm apposed
t'be ee squiggle, ee likkle rip!"
Chugger wrinkled his nose at the mole. "I norra swiggle no more. Chugger a notter now!"
Crafty Gonff waved to the squirrelbabe. "Righto then, otter matey, you stay there. We're goin' now."
Chugger scrambled up the bank and clung to Trimp. "Norra notter no more. Chugger go wiv you to da norfen seashores.
'Urry up, Martin, we go now!"
Below the falls, the pool narrowed again into the stream. Queen Garraway lifted the fringe of bushes growing on its
bank, showing them their transport.
"Here 'tis, mates, a stout liddle raft. C'mon, Gonffo, lend a paw to pull it out here."
It had a collapsible mast and a sail which would double as a tent, plus four long ash poles, paddle-shaped at one end.
They heaved it into the water and leaped aboard. Martin shook the Otterqueen's paw heartily.
"Thank you for everything, Majesty. May your tribe live in peace and plenty here always!"
The brawny otter grinned cheerfully at them. "Thankee, an' may yore journey be a safe 'un. Go now, find what ye seek,
an' don't let ole Gonffo git his nose into the grub supplies too often!"
Chapter 6
By mid-morning the stream had widened out considerably, small white clouds decorated the sunny skies and a gentle
breeze convinced the friends they should erect the mastpole and spread sail. Dinny was never fond of water, and had to
be dug out of the jumble of sail canvas where he had hidden himself. Gonff, however, took on a decidedly nautical mood,
calling out orders.
"Ahoy, mateys, rig up that mastpole amidships, will ye? Set yon sail an' unfurl 'er smartlike to catch the breeze!"
Martin and Trimp chuckled as Dinny threw a derisory salute.
"Aye aye, Cap'n Gonff zurr. Do ee got any more h'orders furr uz common waterbeasties?"
Hiding a grin, Gonff called back haughtily, "I say, Martin, tie a rock t'that fat ole mole's tail an' chuck him in the river,
will you? He's slowin' us up!"
Bushy-edged banks slipped by, casting lacy patterns of sunshadow on the translucent waters. Trimp munched on a
damson scone and sipped raspberry cordial.
"Ah, this is the life, pals . . . Ouch!"
A muddy stick came spinning out of the northbank bushes, striking her on the cheek, followed by a mocking imitation of
the hogmaid's voice.
"This's the life, pals, heeheehee!"
Martin grabbed a pole and punted the raft toward the south bank. Gonff's sharp eyes picked out the culprit.
"There he is, see, runnin' along behind the bushes!"
They followed the direction of Gonff's outstretched paw. A young gray-brown rat was barely visible amid the foliage.
Then it emerged onto the bank, pointing back at the Mousethief and mimicking his voice in a nasty manner.
"Runnin' along be'ind the bushes, be'ind the bushes, heehee!"
Martin's grip relaxed on his swordhilt. "Ignore the little villain. He's only trying to annoy us."
The rat flung another stick, but the raft was now too far away from the north bank to be hit. He stuck out his tongue at
Martin. "Ignore the liddle villain, liddle villain, heeheehee!"
Chugger looked stern, and shook a tiny paw at the rat. "Go 'way, naughty mouse, or I biff ya!"
Martin took hold of the little squirrel, who was about to jump from the raft, and held him wriggling in the air. "Now
now, I told you, ignore the naughty mouse!"
But something unlikable in the creature's swaggering attitude caught Gonff's attention. He stood up. "I thought that was
a mouse at first, but he's a sneaky young water rat. Look at that thick tail, mates!"
The rat stuck his claws in both ears and waggled them impudently at the Mousethief, dancing up and down
provokingly. "Oh, look at 'is tail, mates, look at 'is tail. Heehee!"
Gonff whipped out his sling, fitted a small pebble to it and lobbed it expertly off. The stone, which Gonff had not cast
with any great force, caught the rat a stinging blow on the tail. It leaped up and down, clinging to its tail and howling
tearfully.
"Owowowowow, the mouse nearly slayed me, o wo wo wo wow!"
Gonff returned his impression of the whining vermin. "Owowow, naughty mouse nearly slayed me, owow!"
The rat stopped wailing, his face a picture of fury. "You shut ya face. Think ya funny, don't ya?"
Trimp came to stand beside Gonff. "What's the matter, rat, don't you like a taste of your own medicine? Be off with you,
go and boil your ugly head!"
The rat kept running along the bank to keep up with the raft, throwing twigs, mud and anything he could lay paws
upon. But they fell far short of the travelers. He was livid with rage, shrieking out at them, "Oh, you done it now,
wait'n'see! Nearly slayed Riddig, son of mighty Girfang, Boss of alia streamrats!"
Gonff fitted another stone to his sling, a proper-sized rock this time. "Ah, stop whingin' an' run off home to yore daddy.
Quick now, or I'll show ye what a real slingstone can do. I'll give ye t'the count o' three, rat. One, two . . ."
Riddig stopped running and ducked off hastily into the bushes, still calling out threats to his enemies.
"Don't go 'sleep t'night—better not turn yer back. Youse lot are all deadbeasts, wait'n'see!"
Martin sighed, shaking his head at Gonff. "That's all we need, more trouble. First the Flitchaye, now streamrats. Didn't I
tell you to ignore him?"
Gonff shrugged apologetically. "Nasty liddle vermin. Couldn't 'elp myself, mate."
Trimp was about to agree when Dinny interrupted.
"Burr, nor could oi, Marthen, tho' oi'd 'a' gotten ee vurmint a gudd crack furst toim wi' moi slinger!"
Chugger thrust out his little jaw truculently. "An' I woulda swimmed over an' bited 'is tail off, too!"
Martin tickled Chugger behind the ear fondly. "I wager that would've made him jump, eh, Chugg? Personally I felt a
desire to kick that young horror's tail up and down the bank a bit, just to teach him a lesson in manners. But keep your
eyes peeled, mates. I've a feeling we haven't heard the last of this little incident."
The remainder of a pleasant day was spoiled for Trimp. She watched every rustle of bush or reed along the banks,
expecting at any moment to see a mob of rats come springing out at them. However, the situation did not seem to bother
her companions a bit. Chugger curled up amid the food packs and snored like a holtful of otters, while Martin, Dinny and
Gonff chatted amiably, lying back and trailing their paws in the water. Had Trimp observed them more closely she would
have noticed that the three Redwallers were alert as hunting hawks, keeping their weapons close by at all times.
Evening fell, and still there was no sign of rats. Martin took precautions by nosing the raft onto a rock, which jutted up in
center stream, and making a rope fast to it. Dinny fished about until he located a broad flat stone close to the rock.
Hauling it aboard, the clever mole built a small fire on it. Martin chopped vegetables with his sword, while Trimp dug out
dried watershrimp and herbs from a haversack. Gonff filled their small cauldron with fresh streamwater, and Chugger sat
warming his paws by the fire. Martin tossed the vegetables into the pot and wiped his sword clean.
"A fire at night isn't the best idea in these parts, Din."
The mole watched his soup carefully as he stirred it. "May'ap 'tain't, zurr, but if'n anybeast be a-goin' to attack us'n's,
they'd do et, foire or not. Breezes on ee water be a bit chill. Nought loik a gudd drop o' soup, noice an' 'ot, to keep ee warm
an' 'appy!"
Gonff cut a loaf of ryebread into chunks. "Can't argue with mole logic, mate, ole Din's right."
Dinny's soup was good, and they sat around the cauldron, each with a wooden spoon and a chunk of bread, sharing the
meal in true traveler fashion. Martin set up two oarpoles and brought the sail forward, draping it over them as a
precaution against rain during the night. Trimp found a narrow flagon of elderberry wine and they passed it round, each
taking a few sips.
The hogmaid smiled. "There, that should keep the chills away. What now, mates?"
Gonff smiled back at her. "Now you give us a song, missie."
"No no, my voice would carry over water. Let Dinny sing."
A look passed between Martin and Gonff, and they both sighed.
"Never heard a mole sing before, have you, Trimp?" "No, I can't say I have. Why?"
"Oh, nothin', mate. You're sure you want t'hear molesong?"
"Of course I do, that's if Dinny would be kind enough to oblige us with one of his songs."
The mole's homely face creased deeply with pleasure. "Hurr, 'ow cudd oi refuse a pretty maid loik ee, miz!" Then he
placed a paw over one ear in traditional molesinger's manner and launched into a mole ballad.
"Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,
All on ee broight zummer morning!
l Bold Doogul mole were gurtly brave,
As oi wurr told boi moi muther,
Furr maidens boi the score ee'd save,
Loik chesknutts wun arfter anuther,
Each morn ee rode owt frum 'is abode,
A-mounted on a milky whoit toad,
Surchin' ee danjeruss forest road,
A-lukkin' furr ee maidens.
Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,
All on ee broight zummer mornin'!
Ee spied a gurt fat molewoif thurr,
An' doffed 'is 'at to 'er proudly,
Which froikkened ee molewoif out'n 'er wits,
She'm started to wail roight loudly,
Ee shuvved 'er up onna back of 'is toad,
An' troid t'ride off down ee road,
But two fat moles was an 'evvy load,
An' ee toad wurr crushed loik a beekle.
Ho doodlum roodlum wurdilum day,
All on ee broight zummer mornin'!
Then oop cumm ee gudd an' stoutly mole,
Ee croid, 'Woe thurr bless moi loif,
Thurr be two villyuns tryin' to steal,
Moi dear ole fatty gurt woif!'
So pullin' owt a knotty ash club,
Bowth toad an' Doogul ee did drub,
Ee gave 'em black'n'bloo lumps t'rub,
An' 'is woif gave 'im cabbage furr supper."
Trimp and little Chugger were laughing so hard that they had trouble trying to join in on the chorus. Gonff shook his
head at them sadly.
"Don't encourage him, mates. I've heard that song— there's still another forty-seven verses t'go yet!"
Martin leaped on Dinny suddenly, stifling the mole's mouth with both paws. Trimp sniffed at the Warrior severely.
"Don't be so bad mannered, sir. Let poor Dinny finish his song. Chugger and I were enjoying it!"
Martin shot her a warning glance, his voice an urgent whisper. "Don't make another sound, Trimp. Gonff, throw some
water on that fire, and let's get in the stream, quick!"
They obeyed Martin without question. Gonff flung water on the flames, which sizzled and hissed in clouds of white
steam. Trimp found herself breathless in the cold stream, pulled there by Dinny. Keeping their heads low, the travelers
clung to the raft. A hail of arrows hit the sailcloth shelter, some zipping through, others bouncing off to stick in the deck
timbers. These were followed by a volley of slingstones and a couple of throwing spears, both of which buried their points
in the food haversacks. Then there was silence.
Chugger clung to Martin's neck, shivering. "I cold an' wet, not nice inna water!"
Another lot of arrows hit the raft. Martin stroked the little squirrel's head, whispering softly, "Ssshhh now, Chugg. Right,
let's swim over to the far bank. Try not to make any splashes, go easy."
As they swam off, a harsh voice called from the opposite bank, "Give 'em some more just t'make sure, then we'll board
the raft an' have fun with any still breathin'!"
The travelers made it safely to the far bank. Trimp found some dry grass and rolled Chugger in it. Then she joined her
friends, watching in the thick bushes by the stream's edge. Swaying under the impact, the raft took several more salvos of
missiles. Gonff nudged Dinny. "D'you reckon we're slain by now, Din?"
"Hurr, they'm ratters given ee raft 'nuff to finish off ee troib o' badgerfolk, oi be thinken!"
Martin began gathering pawfuls of pebbles from the shallows. "Let's see how they like a spot of sniping. Wait for my
word."
Launching crude logboats, the rats made it clumsily across to the raft. There were so many of them that the raft began to
tilt crazily. Boss Girfang, their leader, caught hold of his son Riddig, who was trying to undo one of the haversacks, and
snarled at the young rat, "Well, where are they, these creatures that tried t'slay yer? I don't see 'em anywheres."
Riddig cowered under his father's angry glare. "I dunno where they went, but there was five o' them, two ole mice, a fat
mole, a young 'og an' a liddle squirrel. They all battered me wid slingstones fer no reason at aljl. I was jus' lyin' on the
bank, takin' a nap!"
Girfang tweaked his son's ear sharply. "An' you jus' lay there an' let 'em do it, you, Boss's son? Stinkin' liddle coward,
y'make me sick!"
Riddig squealed as Girfang stamped on his tail, protesting, "I never jus' lay there. I got the 'og wid a stick an' the two
mice wid big round stones. They can't 'ave got far!"
A dull thud sounded in the night, and one of the rats toppled into the water. Girfang turned on the rest.
"Be still an' leave them 'aversacks alone or you'll 'ave us all in the stream. Stop rockin' the raft, willy er!"
Thonk! A rat screeched and clapped both paws to his jaw. Girfang grabbed the nearest rat, using him as a shield.
"Somebeast's slingin' at us. Get 'em!"
Splat! Thwack! Crack! Thunk!
Vermin let out agonized yells, two fell in the stream, and the raft rocked wildly as big round river pebbles whizzed out
of the darkness, causing injury and chaos.
Girfang leaped with the others into the water. Seizing their logboats' sides, they swam madly back to their own bank,
peppered relentlessly with stones. No sooner was Girfang on dry land than the slinging ceased. He grabbed Riddig
roughly by the scruff and hauled him ashore, then snapped a willow switch from a young sapling.
"Two ole mice, a fat mole, a young 'og an' a liddle squirrel, eh? Yew rotten barefaced liar!"
Riddig danced in an agonized circle, his father holding him tight by the neck scruff and whaling away mercilessly with
the willow switch.
"Yeeeee! Oohooh! I wuz tellin' the truth, sir, 'onest I was! Aaaaagh! Yeekyeek! Owowowow!"
"Truth? Yew wouldn't know truth if'n it fell on yer 'ead out of a tree, yer mealy-mouthed fork-tongued worm!" Girfang
laid on heavily with the switch, punctuating each word to drive home his message. "There was more'n five beasts stonin'
us there, yew forty-faced toad. Must've been at least a dozen, all trained warriors by the way they could aim an' hit so
good! Own up, now. There was twelve of 'em, mostly otters from upstream, wasn't there, ye wretch? Tell the truth or I'll
flay yer!"
Gonff twirled his sling idly, winking at Trimp as they crouched in the bushes on the far bank. "Does yore heart good
lissenin' t'justice bein' done, missie."
The hedgehog maid listened with satisfaction as she heard Riddig's wails echoing into the night.
"Wahaaar, there was twelve otters beside the others. Don't 'it me no more, Boss, please! Twelve otters, you was right.
Wahaaahaaahaaa!"
Following this revelation, Girfang could be heard calling to the rest of his tribe as they deserted him. "Where are you lot
off to? Git back 'ere!"
Derisive shouts followed his command. "Yah, we ain't scrappin' wid no twelve otters. Go an' fight yer brat's battles
yerself. Yore Riddig started it!"
Gonff grinned, stowing his sling about his waist. "Y'know what they say, truth never hurt anybeast!"
Martin unbuckled his sword and borrowed Gonff's dagger. "So they say, mate, but you try telling that to Riddig. I wager
he's sorry he ever threw that stick at Trimp. Wait here, I'll swim out to our raft and cut it loose."
Next morning, dry and well breakfasted, the friends sailed onward, staying close to the far bank. Summer warmth raised
their spirits, with Gonff confiding aloud to Martin and Trimp, "I reckon it wasn't Riddig caused all that fuss,
y'know."
Trimp looked up from the dough she was kneading for lunch. "Was it not? Who do you think was responsible, then?"
"Dinny's singin', of course. It drove the rats wild an' they attacked us just to stop the 'orrible noise, missje."
"Hurr, you'm turrible crool, zurr Gonffen. Mrli ole granmum alius said oi 'ad a voice loik ee lark at furst loight."
"Haha, that's 'cos yore ole grandmum was deaf as a post, Din."
Dinny continued chopping candied fruit, not raising his eyes. "Aye, an' thy ole grandad alius said you'm wurr ee most
gurtly 'andsome creature. Noice ole beast ee wurr. Oi used to take 'im furr walks lest ee bump into trees. Bloind ee wurr,
pore creetur!"
High noon found them pulled in to a shady inlet out of the hot midday sun. Trimp wanted to bake a candied fruit
turnover, but she had no oven. With mole ingenuity, Dinny solved the problem. He cemented flat pieces of shale together
with stiff brown clay and water, making a neat little box, which, with the turnover inside, was placed on the fire. Martin
and Gonff repaired the torn sail, rent by rat weapons. Nobeast paid much attention to little Chugger. Trimp warned him
to stay close to camp, and he did for a while, but while Trimp was busy with her cooking and Dinny was digging for fresh
roots and vegetables, Chugger wandered off.
Trimp called to her friends. "Come on, lunch is ready. Bring your appetite with you!"
Hastily washing their paws in the stream, they strolled into camp, sniffing the air appreciatively.
"Boi okey, sum thin' smells noice, marm!"
"Mmm, candied fruit turnover, just the thing!"
"Aye, 'tis ages since I tasted fruit turnover!"
The hedgehog maid had discovered a big flagon of new cider at the bottom of Martin's pack. She poured out beakers for
all and laid out chunks of hot turnover on a piece of birch bark she had found before saying, "Where's that rascal Chugger
got to?"
Dinny shrugged as he helped himself to lunch. "Ho, ee'm abowt yurr someplace, oi 'spect. You see'd 'im?"
Martin took a gulp of the crisp-tasting apple cider. "Me? No, I thought he was with you, Din. Me an' Gonff were busy
fixing up the raft. Did you notice Chugg around, Gonff?"
The Mousethief shook his head. "No, sorry, I ain't seen him." Seating himself, he began blowing on his turnover to cool
it. "Hah, ole ChuggTl soon come runnin' when he smells yore cookin', miss Trimp, you'll see!"
But Chugger didn't come. They sat and ate lunch, glancing about and giving an occasional shout of the little squirrel's
name. Still nothing.
Trimp was worried. "Martin, will you go and take a good look around? I'm sure Chugger can't have gone far."
The Warrior put aside his food. "Let's all take a look!"
Spreading out in different directions they began combing the area. Martin and Gonff went east and west along the bank,
while Dinny searched in and around the camp area, in case Chugger was having a game with them. Trimp ventured alone
into the woodland, knowing that Martin and Gonff would circle inward and meet up with her when they had searched
the bank both ways. Tree shelter became thick and gloomy, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the depths
cloaked in a murky green twilight. The hedgehog maid went cautiously, calling out in a subdued voice, "Chugger, are you
there, mate? Come out, my little Chugg!"
Her voice fell dead upon her ears, with no echo. She felt very small amid the tall columns of oak, elm and beech. Then
her sharp ears began to pick up the odd noise, and she smiled to herself. That would be Chugger, playing one of his little
tricks, stalking her mischievously. She decided to hide and turn the tables on him. Swiftly Trimp ran behind a broad
bump-gnarled black poplar and was knocked flat by the creature that had been following her. She squeaked in fright at
the sight of it.
Chapter 7
The gigantic goshawk took a pace backward, allowing Trimp to rise unsteadily. From its black hooked talons and bright
yellow legs up the mighty body, feathered in brown-tipped white plumage, to the mottled headcap, it was the most
impressive bird Trimp had ever seen. Twin gleaming gold eyes with savage black pupils stared down at her over a
lethally curved beak. The goshawk's voice was rasping, harsh. "What doest thou in my domain, hedgepig?"
Trimp had never been called a hedgepig. Bravely she decided to retaliate, and swallowing hard she adopted a stern tone.
"Not that it's any of your business, bird, but I'm searching for my friend, a baby squirrel named Chugger!"
The goshawk twitched his head to one side. He had never been addressed as bird before. "Prithee, have a care,
spinedame. I am called Krar the Woodwatcher. None hath called me 'bird' and lived!"
Trimp became bolder. She stared levelly at the goshawk. "Aye, and I'm called Trimp the Rover by those with any
manners. None have called me hedgepig and lived—er, that goes for spinedame also!"
It was Trimp's turn to take a backward step. She thought Krar was about to eat her, but a moment later she realized that
he was actually smiling at her, an unusual occurrence in a hawk.
"Thou art a bold beast, Trimprover. Thine enemies must be few, methinks, or dead. Say again the name of this
squirrelmite thou seekest."
"Chugger, but he'll answer to Chugg. He's only a babe."
The forest green was blotted out as Krar spread his colossal wings. He touched Trimp's head with a wingtip. "Do you
tarry here, Trimprover, while I make inquiries."
Trimp was knocked flat by the backrush of air as Krar flapped his wings and rose among the tree trunks. Leaves drifted
down through a golden shaft of sunlight as he shot like an arrow through the woodland canopy.
Gonff came trotting through the woodland, catching sight of his friend as he hurried in from the opposite direction.
"Ahoy, Martin, no sign of the liddle feller?"
"None, mate. Have y'seen Trimp?"
"Hi, you two, I'm over here!"
Both ran over to where Trimp was sitting with her back against the poplar, picking leaves from her headspikes. Gonff
stood, paws akimbo, shaking his head at her.
"Well, missie, this's a nice how d'ye do, us two runnin' ourselves ragged along the streambanks an' through the woods,
an' you sittin' here coolin' yore paws, very nice!"
Trimp stood up, brushing herself off. "Actually I'm waiting for word of Chugger at any moment. Now I don't want either
of you to be afraid."
Martin looked about and spread his paws wide. "Afraid of what, Trimp?"
She pointed upward. "That!"
Entering the woodland through the hole he had made in the treetops, Krar Woodwatcher zoomed in like a thunderbolt.
All three travelers were knocked flat by the wind from his wings as he landed.
Trimp patted one of Krar's talons. "Now you'll have to stop doing that, Krar. It'll injure some poor beast one day. These
are my good friends, Martin the Warrior and Gonff, Prince of Mousethieves. Meet Krar Wood watcher, mates. These
woodlands belong to him!"
Martin and Gonff gulped and bowed low at the same time. Krar closed both eyes and clacked his beak politely, as
goshawks do when greeting friends. He turned to Trimp.
"Thy friend the squirrelmite is taken captive in the talons of laggardly carrion—crows, I fear. Alas, 'tis sad news."
Trimp was about to speak when Gonff silenced her with a wink. The artful Mousethief addressed himself to the
goshawk, cleverly using the bird's own antiquated mode of speech.
"Lackaday, sirrah, and thou callest thyself ruler of this fiefdom? Were I in thy place I'd say fie upon myself, methinks,
allowing carrion to hold innocent babes in durance. 'Tis not the worthy act of a just lord!"
Much to Martin and Trimp's surprise, the huge goshawk shifted from one leg to the other, his head hanging slightly.
"Thou speakest truly, O Mousethief. 'Tis my domain and 'twas fitting I stand chided for lack of vigilance."
Gonff shook his head doubtfully. "I fain would give thee a chance to redeem thyself, lord."
Crouching low, the huge bird spread his wings wide upon the ground, his face a picture of abject misery, his very
feathers seeming to droop. "Then truly woe betide me, though I crave a boon from thee, Prince of Mouse-thieves. Give me
leave to effect rescue of thy vassal, I beg ye. Grant me this favor and I will be in thy debt from this day henceforth!"
A wave of pity swept over Trimp as she watched Krar, prostrate at Gonff's footpaws. She could not keep from crying
out, "Oh, say you will, Gonff. Let him do it!"
The Mousethief folded his paws stubbornly. Turning his back on the goshawk, he winked at Martin and Trimp as he
spoke. "Silence, maid, cease thy prattling! For how doth the Prince of Mousethieves know this creature will cleave true
unto his word?"
Martin drew his sword. Touching Krar's bowed head with it, he kissed the blade and announced dramatically, "I, Martin
of Redwall, do give my pledge and bond that Krar Woodwatcher, lord of this place, will honor thy trust, O Prince. For is
he not a warrior born, like myself, and bound in word and deed to protect lesser creatures!"
Gonff paced up and down, as if digesting this statement. Then he placed his footpaw under Krar's beak. "Say where is
this place yon foul crows abide?"
A note of hope crept into the goshawk's voice. "Some pines in a clearing, right close to here, O Prince. Thou and thy
friends mayst follow me and watch while I free thy servant. But 'tis better it be done soon, for tarrying is unwise,
methinks!" He watched avidly as Gonff nodded.
"Mayhap 'tis so. Go then, but hearken, thou hast this warrior to thank for his surety."
A transformation came over the goshawk. He dipped his lethal beak and kissed Gonff's footpaw. "My thanks to thee, O
Prince!" Standing tall, Krar spread his immense wings, saluting Martin, who was dwarfed in his shadow. "And my thanks
to thee, sire. Karraharrakraaaaaaarrr!"
The goshawk's blood-chilling war cry rang out as he whooshed into the air, bowling the three friends over. Trimp
sprang up, pulling leaves from her spines.
"I wish he wouldn't do that! Gonff, how did you know he'd act like that?"
The Mousethief flicked a paw at Martin. "Oh, it was easy. 1 know how warriors think—I've lived with one most of my
life, haven't I, matey?"
Martin tweaked his friend's tail. "Cut the chatter or we'll lose sight of Krar!"
Running as fast as they could, the friends kept Krar in sight as he winged slowly along, just beneath the tree-tops, taking
care not to lose them. After a while they saw a broad green hillock thrusting itself above the woodland. At its top was a
pine grove. Krar swooped down, landing alongside Gonff.
"Yonder lies the carrion stronghold, O Prince. I pray thee make no move. We have been seen!"
As he spoke, a crowd of gray-black crows of the hooded variety came fluttering out of the pines like ragged dark pieces
of cloth blown on the wind, coming to rest on the level sward below the hill. Their bold, harsh chatter filled the air as they
swaggered forward to meet the interlopers, wings folded, beaks thrust forth aggressively. In a less fraught situation, the
sight of their curious rolling gait might have been comical, but these were savage birds, who brooked no trespassers on
their land. Krar whispered, "Bide here, friends. Warrior, keep thy blade ready. Now, I will go hence and parley, for I know
the carrion tongue."
He strode out, erect and disdainful, and a big crow, far heavier than the rest, waddled forward to meet him. At a point
between the crows and the travelers both birds halted. Eye to eye they stood, beaks almost touching. The crow leader hit
the soil several times with his beak, casually, as if showing his contempt by digging for worms.
He made harsh cawing noises. "Kraaaw rakkachakka krawk karraaaaak?"
The goshawk rapped sharply back at him. "Arrakkarraka!"
The crow gestured carelessly with one wing. "Nakraaaak!"
Evidently it was not the answer Krar desired. The goshawk made his move without a moment's hesitation.
Charging forward, he slammed the crow to the ground with a ferocious headbutt and began hammering him ruthlessly
with beak and talons. Cawing and hopping about excitedly, the crow gang called out encouragement to their leader, but
he did not possess the warrior's heart or ferocity of the goshawk. It was over in a trice. A few long gray-black feathers flew
in the air and the crow leader lay defeated.
With sharp pecks and talon scratches, Krar forced the crow to stand. The brave goshawk rapped out a command at his
beaten foe. "Chavaaragg!"
Humiliated, the crow turned to face his gang, spreading his wings limply and dropping them so they trailed upon the
grass.
Trimp nudged Martin. "I know Krar has won, but what's he doing?"
The Warrior had understood it all, he knew. "Those feathers that you see are the crow's pinfeathers. Krar ripped them
out. That crow will never be able to fly again. Krar forced him to show his wings to the others as a warning. Hush now,
Trimp, I want to see what happens next!"
The goshawk took to the air. Sailing over the heads of the crows, he winged upward, landing in the biggest nest, atop
the highest tree. A female crow shot out of it with a terrified squawk. Krar dipped his beak into the nest and came up with
an egg in it. He put the egg back. Spreading his wings he flapped them, screeching harshly at the crows. Then with a
powerful thrust he ripped a chunk from the nest with his talons and cast it down to earth. Pandemonium broke out down
below. The crows dashed into the pine grove, cawing and leaping about in distress. Martin spoke as he watched them,
having interpreted the goshawk's move.
"He's threatening to rip all the nests to shreds, starting with the crow leader's, unless they bring out Chugger. Watch!"
"Trimp! Gonff! It me, Chugg, here I are!"
Dashing out of the pine grove, with the crows behind shooing him on, Chugger hurtled forward, tripping and rolling
down the hill, giggling as he went. "Heeheehee, yah yah ole fedderybums!"
Trimp swept him up into her paws, kissing the little fellow and lecturing him at the same time. "Such language, master
Chugg. Thank the seasons you're safe. Why did you go wandering off like that, eh? Oh, my little Chugg, you had us
worried to death!"
Chugger threw his tiny paws wide, grinning broadly. "See, it me, Chugg! I norra hurted, big birds frykkened o' me, I
smacka smacka dem wiv big sticks, ho yes!"
Gonff hugged Chugger fondly, then turned stern. "You liddle fibber, smackin' crows with big sticks indeed. But let me
tell you, bucko, remember what Girfang did to young Riddig, eh? Well, any more fibs an' runnin' off when yore told to
stay near camp an' you'll get the same off me!"
Chugger hid his face in Trimp's tunic and sulked. Martin threw a paw about Gonff's shoulders. "Big old softie, I'll wager
you wouldn't have the heart to lay a paw on Chugger, would you, O Prince?"
The Mousethief struck a regal pose, looking down his nose. "Oh, I don't know, you'd be surprised what us royal types
can do when we're in the mood. I usually have any mouse who leans upon me beheaded, so remove your paw, common
fellow, afore you incur me wrath!"
Martin looked at Trimp in mock horror. "Such an air of command these royal ones have about them!"
The hedgehog kicked Gonff lightly in the tail. "Yes, O Prince, it's your turn to cook the supper when we get back to
camp!"
Krar landed in their midst, managing not to knock anybeast over with his giant wings. He gestured with his beak. "Best
we begone from this place. Methinks there be but one of me and too many of yon carrion. Let us away now!"
Chapter 8
As there was still plenty of daylight left, the travelers opted to sail farther rather than lie about in camp. Krar
Woodwatcher saw them off on the streambank.
"Fare thee well, O Prince of Mousethieves, fortune go with thee. Thou wilt not see me, but I will guard the air and watch
o'er thee 'til thou art gone from my domain. Be you subject to thy Prince's commands and behave thyself, squire Chugg, or
I will give thee back to yon carrion. Fortune attend thee, dame Trimp, my friend. Thou too, good Dinny, and thee, sir
Martin. I'll not lightly forget that ye forswore thine honor for me. Go now, goodbeasts!"
Chugger began weeping as they sailed off downstream. "Wahaah! Chugg not want Krar t'be gonned!"
Martin let the little fellow work one of the paddles. "Krar isn't gone, Chugg, he's watching over us, even though we can't
see him. Give him a wave, go on!" Chugger waved a chubby paw and felt somewhat better. As the Warrior held the
paddle with the squirrel-babe, he explained as best he could. "Sometimes friends do go from us—it will happen more and
more as you grow up, Chugg. But if you really love your friends, they're never gone. Somewhere they're watching over
you and they're always there inside your heart."
************************************
Toward evening they saw fireglow in the distance. With complete silence and great caution, the friends approached it,
hoping that if it were anybeast hostile, they might slip by unnoticed. But as a voice raised in song echoed on the dusky air,
Gonff relaxed, chuckling.
"I'd know that barrel-bellied baritone anywhere, mates. Now there's a fine voice for ye, but don't tell him I said it.
Haharr, listen to 'im, will you!"
It was a fine voice, more bass than barito